Death and Taxes

The good news is that we got out of the cavern safe and sound with (as Borrow succinctly put it) 1.9 dwarves saved, sold a bunch of loot at Dragon Keep, and discovered the my shiny new teleport works well enough for shopping trips to Stonyvale.

The bad news is that I died.

Rewinding a bit, our triumphant return to Dragon Keep was marred by nocturnal torment, as I dreamed of a human village near Myreth forest being overrun with an elf-led undead horde. We identified the village as Venteton, and set out on horses right away to investigate or help (since I was unable to concentrate well enough to memorize more teleportation spells). Night after night my sleep was interrupted, and I required help from Ili just to keep going. Venteton was thoroughly destroyed when we arrived, and Erson opined that the attack was probably coincident with my first dream.

Following the tracks left by the undead army, we came to a large building crafted entirely of densely packed bone. Dispatching undead sentry birds and entering by the main door, we were accosted by an eerily beautiful elven warrior who demanded to know if we were invited into her Lord's home. Once it became clear that we were not, she revealed her vampiric fangs and attacked. It took quite a while for the fighters to pin her down as she danced around, sidestepping he majority of their blows. When finally defeated, she took gaseous form and fled; knowing that we needed to destroy her recuperating form in her coffin to ensure that she didn't return, we hastily follow. And that's when things went really wrong.

The nigh-unstoppable elven assassin we met months ago at Ghostwood stepped out of a doorway, and cackled with happy malice when he saw us. He tossed a bloody dagger at our feet and warned us that they (meaning the Medusan Lords) had tolerated us for now, but if we proved more of a threat or interfered too much they wouldn't hesistate to deal with us. We attempted to fight but he shrugged off spells and attack with ease. Disappearing, he must have teleported behind me, and I knew unspeakable pain as his blades connected. When I returned, improbably, to life and consciousness, he was nowhere to be seen. A strange tingling from the unnaturally-closing wound left me uneasily certain that he had marked me, forging a connection I don't understand how to sever.

Lacking better options, we continued to search out the coffin of the vampire. In the next room we discovered the Lord of the house dead in his bed, and the coffin of his guardian hidden in an antechamber. How did this Elven necromancer cross the Medusan Lords, and why were we "invited" in such rough fashion to his demise? Perhaps the answers lie in his library. We are all uneasy at being "let off" by the assassin; whether this is a set-up or just a happy opportunity for him to combine business with pleasure, nobody knows. With no answers, it seems worthwhile to risk staying a little longer: I believe I can teleport at least some of us out should the dead Lord's undead army return.

Longer term, I fear for my health and longevity. I overheard Erson muttering about killing me to ensure that no malign influence is exercised through me. Some part of my sympathizes with that catastrophic sacrifice, but I cannot give up so easily. Perhaps Gaston can advise on a way to insulate myself from whatever connection the assassin made.